If Wishes Were Horses
by klipdoctor
Summary: Nothing is ever easy in life. Certainly not in Molly Dawes' life. One idea for what might happen in the first episode of a new series of Our Girl.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Our Girl. Everything you recognise was created by Tony Grounds and is owned by the BBC.**

 **It's Sunday, and I still find myself missing Our Girl. If there's any more like me out there, happy Sunday!**

 **Dialogue in Bold in the first scene is borrowed from Our Girl, Episode 4 and is (C) BBC.**

 **Author's notes at the bottom.**

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

It was uncanny, thought Charles James, as he led his team over the bridge, he was _sure_ he'd been here before. The sun beat down from the deep blue Afghan sky and there was a touch of wind, just enough to rattle the limp Afghan flag in its pole. He tried to push away his faint sense of unease and focus on the job at hand.

It was difficult.

At the back of his mind he could still feel the euphoria that that kiss with Molly had elicited. Not just that they had kissed, but that she'd accepted his explanation and that they were back "on". The fact that she'd accepted him back after he'd hurt her so much. Not intentionally but just by being a stupid fool.

He'd had to push that to the back of his mind as well.

And then there was the fact that this could be the last mission of this tour. If Badrai was in the back of the truck and everything went according to plan he had a good chance of getting his people through this without any casualties. That would be a great result. In fact it would be his first tour of Afghanistan where he hadn't lost someone. And it was within touching distance.

But he couldn't focus on that now. He had to stay focused on the mission.

He could see the bloody farmer out of the corner of his eye, but he was happy that that situation was under control. Although he had been a bit wary of Smurf after he had come back after being wounded, he seemed to have settled down now, and was behaving much more like the Smurf he'd known when they were training for the mission rather than the idiot he'd been at the beginning of the tour. He had entrusted Smurf with the responsibility of looking after the farmer which should allow him, Qaseem, Molly and the slightly loopy-seeming ASF soldier to look after the truck.

As they reached the truck the Afghans moved round to talk to the driver and he and Molly moved towards the back of the truck, greeting the occupants in Pashto. He couldn't help but smile internally at Molly's pronunciation, which had not improved one jot over the course of the tour. He wasn't sure if they would understand the standard greeting, spoken with a broad cockney accent!

Something wasn't right here, and he could tell Molly was feeling it too. The back of the truck was filled with a group of women and children. There was no obvious sign of Badrai, but the atmosphere was "off". Just on edge.

" **Everything looking as it should do Dawes?** " he questioned Molly as he observed the veiled occupants.

Molly replied suspiciously, " **Somethin' ain't right, boss** ," confirming his thoughts.

Suddenly a gunshot rent the air. He and Molly ducked down, trying to find cover and work out what was happening at the same time.

" **Was that contact?** " he gasped, to be answered by a gabble of voices over the radio. A voice rang out, loud and clear, " **Smurf?! What the fuck are you doing?** "

Smurf? He swung round in his crouch to see Smurf still had his rifle trained on the farmer who was holding his goat and calling in anguish. Smurf was growling, almost screaming, " **Come on you wanker, go for your weapon!** "

James couldn't believe it. Not seconds ago he had been thinking that Smurf was back to normal but here was yet more evidence that he was fragile under pressure and had scant respect for the rules of engagement.

" **Smurf what the fuck are you doing?!** " he shouted, " **does that farmer even have a gun?** " Smurf didn't answer him, just growled towards the farmer again. The confused questions were still coming from the radio and James had to find out what was going on.

He called desperately, " **Hold your fire! Hold your fire!** " and, leaving Molly at the truck, he moved towards Smurf. As he approached, he called, " **Smurf, what the fuck happened?** "

The answer shocked him. " **You. That's what fucking happened.** " He was totally taken aback. Firstly by Smurf's words, but secondly by his tone. Smurf had always been respectful towards him. Right from when they had met at Geraint's funeral, all the way through training up the unit, and on tour as well. Just what was going on?

" **What are you talking about?** " he asked, confused.

Smurf glared at him, his mouth working and his face rigid with anger and choked out, " **You've ruined everything.** "

James was still clueless, " **What?** "

Smurf replied, " **I looked in.** "

This was like pulling teeth. Charles couldn't handle this shit. He had a fugitive to capture and now Smurf seemed to have had a breakdown and wasn't making sense. He tried again, " **I don't know what the fuck you're talking about but you will put your gun down now, Smurf!** "

Now he was crying. What the Hell was going on here? Molly radioed to ask if Smurf was OK.

That seemed to have an impact. Once again he shot James such a look of enmity that the Captain took a step back. " **Worried I might shoot you?** "

To be fair, the thought hadn't crossed James' mind until then, but it was starting to become clear that there was something seriously wrong with Smurf and he should do something soon. Unfortunately the rule book didn't contain a lot of information about what to do when one of your soldiers loses it, endangers the mission and might be threatening to shoot you. It was difficult to know what to do. On the one hand he needed to focus on the mission, but on the other hand there was something clearly wrong with Smurf. What was he to do? He needed to focus on Smurf if he was to resolve this. He looked at him in the eyes, " **Lower your gun now Smurf.** "

" **I'd have laid down my life for you boss. And Molly.** "

Well that was nice to know, but what had changed? He tried again. " **Private Smith. Lower your gun now! That's an order.** "

That was when the bombshell came. " **But she wants you to be the last thing she sees.** " Just ten words. But ten ever so important words. Oh God, Smurf had seen them together. _He had seen_.

Smurf was talking again, and Qaseem was calling, urging him to get back to the truck. He knew he needed to, but he needed to make one last attempt to get through to Smurf. To tell him that this was neither the time nor the place for this. To get him to focus before someone got hurt. "Dylan Smith," he spoke slowly, enunciating each word clearly, " **You are endangering this entire mission and the lives of your fellow soldiers! You do not bring 'personal' onto the battle field, is that understood?** "

But it didn't get through, " **You did** ," grated Smurf.

But then it didn't matter any more. He heard Molly calling to him, " **Boss! Boss! It's Badrai!** "

Swinging round, he saw her gesturing at the rear of the truck. He saw her look from where she was to where he was and quickly understood what was going through her mind. _Shit!_ He was too far away to support her. He had allowed himself to get distracted and now her life was at risk. He shouted desperately, "DAWES! Get to cover" but even as the words left his mouth he realised that she wasn't obeying his order. She raised her gun and behind her he could also see a Burka-clad figure rising and pulling out a gun at the same time.

They both fired almost simultaneously, Molly a three round burst, but Badrai on full automatic, and he watched in horror as a stream of shots traced up Molly's body, from her legs to her shoulder, causing her to jerk and jump.

"NO!" he shouted, "DAWES!" as he finally found himself able to move and ran towards her, seeing her fall backwards like a sack of potatoes. He held his gun in the ready position but relaxed as he also saw Badrai blown backwards. Screams were coming from the truck as he reached Molly, but he ignored them to kneel by her side.

She was in a terrible condition, covered in blood but lying half propped up by her med Bergen. Her head was lolling to the side and her eyes stared at him, looking wired, in her already paling face. A large pool of blood was spreading around her body.

As he looked at her, he realised that he had caused this. He had allowed himself to get distracted by Smurf and had left her unsupported. He could feel the blood rushing in his ears. Fighting hard to maintain his composure and not let his panic show, he grasped his radio, "KINDERS! Man down! One CAT-A. Urgent medevac required! Stay where you are and send Dangles and Nude-Nut to take care of the insurgent. Make sure the MERT knows it's our medic that's down and they need to send someone to help on the ground!"

Not really hearing Kinders' acknowledgement, his eyes were drawn to Molly. She whispered, "Boss…"

He reached for her hand, conscious that it was cold. Colder than it should be.

"It's too late…" she whispered. He looked at her, wanting to deny it. Blood was frothing at her lips and she was struggling to breathe. Blood was pooling over the road underneath her. The woman he loved was bleeding to death in front of him. And it was all his fault.

"No!" he told her, "I can save you! Tell me what I should do."

Her voice was faint, "There's nothin' you can do. I'm a medic…remember?"

He looked at her despairingly, unwilling to accept what was in front of his eyes, "No Molly."

She looked at him and tried to speak, but couldn't. A great wracking cough shook her body and deep red blood splattered out around her lips. Her breathing was laboured, short gasping breaths. "It's too bad….I'm sorry."

James looked into her eyes, her beautiful green eyes, and finally accepted the truth there. He couldn't bear to keep looking at her. He was filled with self-loathing. He had caused this. It was his fault. His fault that the woman he loved was dying. "Don't be sorry, it was my fault," he told her, finishing bitterly, "It was all my fault."

She was trying to talk again, fighting to get the words out, "Don't…blame…yourself. Look…at…me…"

He looked again into her eyes, knowing what this was. She wanted him to be the last thing she saw. She had told him so. In that compound, what felt like hours ago. But it was only 15 minutes. He had expected then that it would be years in the future, but it was now. He almost cried about the unjustness of it all.

She was looking at him almost lovingly. How could she, when it was his negligence that had killed her? He tried to focus on the moment, determined that he would say the words that had been so difficult for him, "I love you," he whispered, looking into her beautiful green eyes, laying his hand gently on her cheek.

"Ditto." She told him, and then she coughed. This time the blood didn't stop flowing.

"No…" he moaned, overcome with grief. He had only known her a few months but she had become so important to him and he had come to rely on her. They were so close to their happily ever after. "No Molly!" he told her, losing control, "Hold on. Please Molly. You have to hold on. Please. Please!"

\- OG - OG - OG - OG -

But something was happening. She was calling to him. Was she a ghost? What was going on?

"Charlie! Charlie! It's all right Charlie." It _was_ her voice. Reassuring. Loving. It was her!

Afghanistan was breaking up, resolving into the walls of his bedroom at home. The TV. His Sandhurst class photo on the wall. The board with all his Army photos. Training exercises, his first platoon, him posing with his men next to a burnt out tank in Iraq, others "relaxing" at their first PB in Afghanistan. The framed photo of Sam on his desk.

As the last vestiges of the dream faded away he became aware of Molly by his side. Her face was whole and unmarred, but held a worried expression. Her body, which last he'd seen clad in camouflage and body armour and rent with bloody holes, was now covered by only a T-shirt with signs of lace knickers poking out at the bottom, and bare legs. If anything was going to reassure him, then it was this. A hale and healthy Molly Dawes.

"I'm here Charlie. I'm here," she told him reassuringly, "Everything's OK. You're at home. We're both here. It's all OK."

"Molly?" he asked wonderingly.

"Yeah Charlie. It's me in the flesh," she replied, lying down beside him and hugging him, "I ain't dead, missin', mangled or any of them other things you dream about."

Not again, he thought despairingly. Not again. Then he had another thought, "Are you OK? Did I hurt you?"

"Nah," she told him, "you weren't lashin' out tonight."

He looked around for the clock, but couldn't see it. "What time is it?" he asked her.

"Three thirty," she answered, then she looked at him a bit closer, "so what happened tonight?" she asked gently.

He closed his eyes, not wanting to answer but figuring he owed it to her. "It was the bridge again. Smurf blaming me and you got shot. You bled out right in front of my eyes."

"Oh Charlie," she sighed, reaching out to caress his cheek just as he had caressed hers in his dream, "I can't believe you tried to hide this. I can't believe this has been goin' on for three months. It's nearly December, Charlie. And it's getting' worse. You need to speak to someone."

It wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation, and he was beginning to get sick of it. It wasn't that serious. He would know if it was. But just to shut her up he told her what she wanted to hear, "I know."

She seemed to recognise his prevarication for what it was and pulled away, sitting up so she could make eye contact. "I'm serious Charlie," she told him, "I know it's a lot to deal with – leavin' the Army and everythin'. But you're not goin' to find somethin' else to do until you sort yourself out." She uttered a deep sigh, "I mean, you hardly sleep and most jobs I know need you to stay awake durin' the days!"

Realising he hadn't done a great job of convincing her, he told her, "I know, and I _will_ see someone."

Again, she wasn't convinced, and now he could see she was starting to get annoyed, "Will you?" she asked plaintively, "You've been saying that for four weeks and it's only getting' worse Charles."

Her use of his full name was a clear shot across the bows and he looked up at her, startled. She stared back at him, vexed, refusing to speak. She was clearly upset about this, more upset than he had expected her to be. He guessed it wouldn't hurt to speak to someone. As the silence stretched out he apologised, "I'm sorry Mols. I _will_ do something." Whether he would or not depended on how he felt tomorrow. He would have to see how it went.

Accepting his peace offering, she told him, "Well, see that you do." After favouring him with another glare her lips quirked up, and she asked jokily, "Now Charles James. Can you get back to sleep, or do you need a hand?"

Pleased that that conversation was over again for the time being, he responded in kind, "Why, Private Dawes – are you trying to lead me astray?"

Now she smiled cheekily, "Well Mr James, I'm sure that could be arranged…"

* * *

 **A/N 1: So, I'm back. Obviously I just couldn't stay away. Pathetic, I know, but there you are! I've been doing a bit of screen writing. Screen writing is a totally different skillset to writing stories and, to help train myself, I decided to write a script using some characters I knew about. I decided I'd use OG. "If Wishes Were Horses" is based on a speculative script I wrote for the first episode of a potential series two of** ** _Our Girl_** **. Here's hoping we get one and I'm sure TG's version will be significantly better than mine!**

 **A/N 2: I realise that a lot of this chapter has similarities with episode 4 or RNT. To avoid it being dull I've tried to build in a lot more of his feelings around it to give a better idea of what he might actually have been thinking. Don't worry though - this is the last flashback – everything else will be new material.**

 **A/N 3: Welcome to all the new Aussie and Kiwi OG fans as well!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Our Girl. Everything you recognise was created by Tony Grounds and is owned by the BBC.**

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

It had been such a weird few weeks, Molly thought, as Jackie was at the bar ordering their drinks. She had got back from tour verging on euphoria, finally feeling that not only had she got herself some closure on the events in the final weeks of her first tour, but also that she had done a damned good job and she was proud of herself. And being proud of herself wasn't really something that Molly had had a lot of experience with in her life so far. Seeing Bashira and reassuring herself that she was happy and well and enjoying the opportunity for a good education, had been such a weight off for Molly.

It was she, after all, that had caused the little girl to be nearly killed, and to be taken away from her family, and it was Molly that had killed her father. That had been the worst thing for Molly, but as she had managed to get some time between what happened on the bridge and her present, she had started to be able to get her head around killing Badrai. At the end of the day, it was kill or be killed. He had been ready to kill her, to threaten Charles, her section, effectively her family, and in that instance she now understood that she had made the right decision. She supposed that if she'd been using her rifle rather than Charles' pistol (which she'd never used before) she might have done something clever like shooting to wound, but given that she hadn't, and that it had been an instantaneous thing, she had done the best she could. And given that Mansfield Mike had already shot him, she reckoned he probably would have died anyway. To some extent, she thought, her emotions about killing Badrai had been tied up with her regrets about nearly getting Charles killed, and once she had been able to see that he was recovering, she had been able to better put the Badrai situation to bed as well.

And the second Tour had also shown another side of the new her. She was a good teacher. She didn't know what it was, whether it was the new confidence she had that she _could_ do her job, or if it was something else. But when she had spoken to the Afghan students, both out in the field and in the university at Kabul, she had found them hanging on her every word. Maybe they were just trying to understand her! She didn't know. But the feedback on her work had been outstanding and her CO, Major White, had told her that she was a candidate for advanced CLM, which had practically blown her away. How could Molly Dawes, who had no GCSEs, be a candidate for advanced promotion?

And being on Tour had also allowed her to get her head around Smurf's death. In her head she had known before that it wasn't her fault, but her heart had still hurt. There was no way that she could diagnose a brain tumour after all, but perhaps she should have understood that the mood swings and the eye issues he had mentioned may have been indicative of something else. She wondered if the brain tumour might have been responsible for his weird behaviour on the last mission? She hoped so. It was easier to remember him as a good soldier rather than one who had lost it emotionally. She'd never had a friend like Smurf. She'd had plenty of guys that had wanted to get in her pants at one time or another. But once he'd understood that they wouldn't be going there (again), they'd settled down into a great relationship, if only for a few days. Nevertheless, she would treasure those few days for the rest of her life. She had determined that she would make sure to stay in Candy's life while she still needed her, for as long as it took. She had made sure to write to Candy regularly, and they were building a friendship gradually.

So, having sorted everything out in her mind, effectively unfragging herself, she had got back to the UK excited for the future. She had stayed at home overnight and then set off to Bath looking forward to surprising Charlie. She knew her family, her mum in particular, had been disappointed that she hadn't stayed at home for longer but the truth was that, while she loved East London, it didn't really feel like home any more. She wasn't really sure where home was at the moment, but after living with the shear regularity of Army life for the past three months, the chaos of the flat she had grown up in was difficult to take. Plus Charlie wasn't there. She loved seeing her family, and she always would, but one of the unintended consequences of the decision that her father had forced her into was that she felt distanced from them now. Her father had forced her to choose between her family and the Army, and for her the Army _was_ her future. She felt that very strongly now, and she knew she had made the right decision.

She had made it to Bath and surprised Charlie on his parents' front doorstep and for the first day everything had been fantastic. They had had mind-blowing sex, she had finally met his parents and got on well enough and they had had a great celebratory dinner, followed by more mind-blowing sex. The next day had been a carbon copy, until the night. At 2am he'd woken her up with a barnstorming nightmare. Not being a stranger to bad nightmares herself, she had done her best to help him, only becoming a little freaked out when he told her that he had dreamt of her funeral. But they had managed to get back to sleep and she had thought nothing of it. Until it happened the next night. And the night after that.

She'd asked Charlie about it then and he had confessed that he was having regular nightmares and flashbacks and generally feeling a bit out of sorts. But he maintained he had had this sort of experience before after being on Tour and that it would get better soon. She had gone along with that for a little while, but it was clearly becoming worse and she felt it was time that he needed to get some help.

"Alright Mols?" Jackie was back with the drinks, "You looked like you'd spaced out a bit there."

She looked up at her friend gratefully. Jackie was practically the only one who knew about her and Charlie, and about what was truly going on. She'd needed someone to confide in who could understand her experiences and what she was feeling, and Jackie had drawn the short straw. And she'd been fantastic. They'd kept in touch after she returned from her first tour and Jackie had been great at keeping in touch while she was away on her second, and the friendship had grown. Sometimes she didn't know what she'd do without Jackie.

"Yeah, not bad Jacks. Thanks for invitin' me." She smiled, trying to put her thoughts behind her.

Jackie grinned, "Well I'm honoured you agreed to come up here Mols, with us being north of Watford and all! This must be what, the fourth or fifth time you've been out of London?!" she finished, playfully.

Molly looked thoughtful and counted out on her hand, "I reckon it's the sixth, includin' Afghan!" she joked.

Jackie laughed, "See, there is life outside London."

Molly wasn't having any of that. "Well, if you call this life!"

"Careful Mols, that's fighting talk," smiled her friend.

Molly grinned back at Jackie, took a sip of her drink and then leaned back in her chair, releasing a deep sigh. It was good to have a bit of banter and it was good to be away from Bath and London, away from her responsibilities, both real and imagined. "So, what's the plan then Jacks?" she asked.

Jackie was watching her friend, and seemed pleased that she'd finally started relaxing. She answered, "Well, I thought I'd take you home now and drop off your stuff and get ready and then later we can go out for a few bevvies, and I thought I could introduce you to some of my friends," she winked, "and there's a few other hangers on that said they might come along!"

"You didn't?" Molly gasped.

Jackie smiled at her, "Well not really. I just happened to mention to Dangles that I was seeing you and he asked if he could come along, and then he called and asked if it was OK if some of the other boys came too. I thought it would be rude not to…"

\- OG - OG - OG - OG -

Actually Nuneaton wasn't such a shithole after all, thought Molly. It was certainly a hell of a lot better than Newport, anyway! And Jackie's friends were a great group. She'd been a bit wary at first, but actually it had worked out well. Jackie's mates had been really welcoming to the stranger in their midst, much more so than her so-called friends had been to Katy when she'd brought her back from Basic, and it had been a great night so far. Jackie's friend Liz was a nurse at the A&E department in the local hospital and they'd bonded over medical training and experiences, as each attempted to gross the others out! The others seemed used to that so they were obviously long-suffering! The bar was great, the booze was a lot cheaper than London and it looked like there was a great dancefloor. It was a long way from both Bath and London, and she was having a really good time. What was more interesting was that they weren't drinking a lot, just talking and drinking recreationally; a far cry from her old life where a night out consisted of getting totally wellied.

A shadow fell over the group and Molly looked up to see Jackie accompanied by three men. She barely heard as Jackie told her, "Look what I found, loitering outside!"

She had been worried about this moment. The last time she'd seen any of Two Section had been at Smurf's funeral, although she had exchanged e-mails and Facebook updates with many of them over the following months. She'd wondered if their relationship would have changed, but one look at Mansfield, Dangles and Brains told her how wrong she was. "Well, look what the cat dragged in," observed Mansfield, grinning his Cheshire cat grin, "'Ello gorgeous!"

She'd never got up so quickly in her life and she was round that table and part of a group hug in no time at all, before hugging each of them individually.

"Alright Mols?" observed Dangles, wincing, "We're here all night. You don't need to strangle us now!"

"Missed us then Mols?" asked Brains, kissing her on the cheek. She tried for a pithy comeback, knowing her reputation was on the line, but the truth was she _had_ missed these prats, and she needed their no strings attached companionship more than ever now. Brains seemed to realise that she was struggling and threw her a lifeline, "Alright, who's up for a drink?"

\- OG - OG - OG - OG -

 _What a great night_ , reflected Molly as she slumped in her seat, taking a second out from the dancefloor. The boys seemed to know a few of Jackie's friends (she must remember to ask her about that later) and everyone had got on well and had a great time. It had been fab to catch up with her old crew and to hear their news first-hand and it had been a really fun evening.

"How's it going Mols?" she looked up to see Jackie sitting down beside her. Her friend looked as tired as she felt and she didn't begrudge her a rest. Jackie had really been going for it on the dancefloor and she and Mansfield were a formidable combination!

"Thanks for doin' this Jacks," she told her friend, "It's the best fun I've had in ages."

"Yeah, it doesn't sound like it's been too great for you, since you got back from the second tour," observed Jackie, sadly.

"Nah," she replied, feeling slightly depressed, "I was so excited when I got back. Thought everythin' was bang to rights. Put Afghan behind me and ready to move on with my life, and then it all comes crashin' down again." She looked up quickly at Jackie, "'Ere Jacks? Don't tell the boys about Charlie. They don't know nothin' about all that. Don't even know we're goin' out."

"No worries, Mols," Jackie reassured her, "I won't if you don't want me to. Is he any better?" she asked.

Molly grimaced, "Nah, he's worse if anythin'. I just don't know what to do. He can't even sleep through the night any more. Don't get me wrong. Sometimes it's great. He's fun and he's carin' and it's just like it was before, but other times…he's so angry. And bitter and 'urt." She paused, staring into nothing, thinking of the man she had known and the man she knew now, "He'll be fine and then somethin'll set him off and he goes off on a rant. Not at me, never at me. But always in the back of my mind I wonder if he will. Every time I suggest he gets help he poo poos it. I'm gettin' to the end of my tether Jacks."

Jackie, looked down, seemingly mourning the Captain James they had all known, "Are you still thinking about leaving the Army?"

Molly looked directly at her friend, "I don't want to. Lord knows it's the only thing I've ever been good at. But I can't help but think it might help. He's had to give up the Army – it's all he's ever known."

Jackie frowned at her, "Don't you _dare_ give it up for him Molly!" she told her fiercely, "If it's your choice, so be it, but don't you dare give up something like this for him. It's not fair to you – or to him. He'd hate you to give it up. Didn't he tell you to be "brilliant"?"

Molly smiled, sadly, "Yeah, he did. But it ain't just that Jacks. It's about me too. Where do I go from here? We're out of Afghan now. I enjoy my job but where do I end up? They won't want as many CMTs goin' forward. I don't fancy being a nurse and clearin' up bedpans and shit. I've got no qualifications. Where do I go from here?"

Jackie smiled reassuringly, "I hear you Mols, but you've got an MC. They're not going to be falling over themselves to wash you out."

"Maybe." Molly allowed.

Jackie took a deep breath, "Have you thought about transferring to a different service?"

"What?" Molly asked, shocked. This was not what she had expected.

Jackie smiled, not surprised that she had caught Molly unaware. "I'm serious Mols. I worked with some of the MERT guys while we were at Bastion. The RAF medics can get paramedic training and a qualification if they want. Then they can do MERT if they prefer, or search and rescue or anything like that… And with a paramedic qualification if you decide to quit the armed forces you _have_ got something."

Molly paused. This wasn't something she had thought about at all, but it made sense. Jackie continued, "Anyway. Just something for you to think about. You don't have to rush into anything. You've still got a long way to go to advance as a CMT, and I hear that the army have started sponsoring some senior CMTs for paramedic degrees now as well, so there's lots of things to consider."

That was interesting. She'd known they were thinking about that but she hadn't known that it had gone through. That would probably be the best solution for her, although the RAF route was worth thinking about as well – then she could contribute in peacetime in a way that she couldn't as an Army medic.

"Thanks Jacks, you've given me a lot to think about," she told her friend, "but whatever happens I think Aldershot is callin' again."

Jackie grinned, pleased to see a smile back on Molly's face. "One more idea Mols. I know 4 Armoured Medical is in Aldershot but there's other medical units in other parts of the country. You could come up north if you fancied a break?"

Molly smiled tentatively, "I guess. It's just that Aldershot is near to Bath and near to London, but I suppose if it all goes pear-shaped it might be good to go somewhere else. Give myself a bit of distance. Thanks Jacks, somethin' more to think about. I appreciate it."

"What are friends for?" the woman who was rapidly becoming her BFF replied. They smiled at each other, only to be interrupted by Mansfield.

"Oi! What are you two up to? We need you on the dancefloor now, else I might gonna need a medic!"

Molly glared at him, "Then you'd better get us some more drinks otherwise you _will_ need one, you ginger twat!"

* * *

OG

 **OMAKE** (for those who don't know what that is, according to the _Urban Dictionary_ , it's a Japanese word that translates into "Bonus" or "Extra". They're popular on many fanfiction/fanart sites). So here you get an extra scene, from earlier in the evening...

OG

Later on, Molly found herself sitting beside Brains and Dangles. Most of the others had gone to the dancefloor.

"So tell me," she asked, looking directly at Brains, "and no bullshit this time. Why couldn't Fingers and the others come?"

"Well you know how it is Mols," answered Brains, taking a sip from his pint, "the writer thought the producers would be too tight to bring in Nude Nut, Baz and Kinders given that they don't get any lines."

"That bloody Klipdoctor!" exclaimed Molly, "Don't you worry about that. I know where he lives. I'll get my dad to send round the heavies." Then she had a thought, "Nah, actually he deserves worse than that. This is the second time that twat's pissed me off. I'll set my Nan on him. That'll sort him out! Tosser."

"I've said it before and I'll say it again Mols, I don't ever want to get on the wrong side of you!" observed Brains.

"Yeah, yeah," Molly blushed slightly, "But what about Fingers? You didn't mention him."

"Well, he's busy with Corrie ain't he," replied Dangles, "didn't you know?"

"What?!" exclaimed Molly, "That bastard's in Corrie? When did that happen?" She took a long swallow of her drink, trying to understand this betrayal.

"Honestly Mols, where've you been for the last few months?" Brains asked, "He's got a recurring role. He plays a drug dealer. And he's totally not a minger in this!"

"That Manc bastard! How could he go to Corrie? No wonder he didn't tell me. I can't believe he joined the competition. Bloody Judas! I mean it was alright Major Beck going – that was only one episode after all, and he was an officer, but I thought Fingers was my mate."

"Yeah Mols, not only did he join the competition but he's nailed it," Brains told her. "I mean I know, as a scouser, I'm not supposed to like Manc stuff but it's still better than your poxy southern shit!"

"Oi! Watch it you git!" Molly told him. "I'll have you know that Eastenders is _much_ better than Corrie."

"Yeah, whatever Mols," Dangles told her, "I started trying to watch it after I met you but it's tough to get into, you know. All that shouting and screaming. Plus the fact that you're hardly ever in it. What a waste. I have to sit through all that shit I don't care about just to see two lines from you."

"I did watch the 30th anniversary specials though," offered Brains, "But I'm with Dangles. That was a lot to watch just to see you getting a few lines. I did like your slippers though on the interview, afterwards!"

"Cheeky bastard! I'd watch it if I were you. I know where you two live, an' all!" The others shied away, but she added, "But if you buy me another drink I'll try to pretend I didn't hear what you said!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own Our Girl. Everything you recognise was created by Tony Grounds and is owned by the BBC.**

 **Author's notes at the bottom.**

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

Molly was sitting at the kitchen table at the James' home in Bath when Charles walked in. Her new orders had arrived that morning and were largely as expected, although she had to report back a little earlier than she would have hoped.

She'd only been back in Bath for three days, having spent a further day in Nuneaton with Jackie, recovering from the night before, and then staying with her parents for a few days. Her mother had forwarded her orders to Charles' address, assuming that she'd want to see them ASAP. A good call on her mother's part, Molly thought.

She looked up warily when Charles walked in, wondering which Charles James she would get this morning. The warm and loving one had been fairly rare since she had come back from Nuneaton, replaced by the short-tempered and sarcastic one that she remembered oh so well from the beginning of her first tour. When he had gone off on a rant during lunch yesterday, she and Celia, his mother, had shared a look. They had spent several hours seemingly walking on eggshells for the rest of the afternoon. But fun and loving Charles had come back for dinner, and they had gone to bed early for their first sex since she had got back from her trip. But he had woken twice in the throws of nightmares overnight and had taken ages to get back to sleep the second time.

"Mornin'," she ventured.

"Hi Mols," he replied, "What's that?" he asked, nodding at the brown envelope sitting on the table.

"My new orders."

He looked interested and a glimmer of hope flared within her, "Oh? And where are they sending you?"

She looked at him, "I'm to report to 4 Medical Regiment in Aldershot."

"Oh great," he replied, "That's within easy driving distance of Bath and of London. Are you happy?"

She grimaced. That was a loaded question if ever there was one! "Yeah, I suppose it's the best I could've hoped for."

"You don't sound too happy," he retorted, a little aggressively.

She looked down, still a little disappointed, "I'm to report on 12th December. So I'll miss your Dad's birthday party and I don't know if I'll be able to get leave for Christmas."

"Well that can't be helped," he observed bracingly, "I'm sure I can come down to see you over Christmas though."

"Spose so," she muttered, slightly mutinously.

"What's wrong?" he asked, surprised by her tone.

She took a deep breath, bracing herself for whatever was to follow. She supposed this was a situation that had been brewing for a while and, whatever Jackie said, he deserved some input on her decision as well. "I just don't know if I should go Charlie."

"Why not?" he asked, surprised, "It's what you want isn't it? You're a brilliant soldier Molly. And a brilliant medic. Why wouldn't you want to go? I'd be there like a shot if I could."

"I know Charlie," she told him, "and that's kind of why. What are you goin' to do while I'm gone?"

He was surprised by the direction of the conversation and sputtered out, "Well I'll get a job or something."

 _Great_ , she thought, mo _re of his bullshit_. "Will you Charlie?" she inquired, angrily, "Really? Because that's what you've been sayin' for the past two months. As well as – "oh it's not bad" and "I'll get help"." She paused, trying to quell her anger, "It's six weeks since I got back from Afghan Charlie. Three days since I got back from Nuneaton and only two days since the last time you promised to get help. And that was like the thousandth time you've promised to get help since I've been back."

"Oh for God's sake!" he nearly snarled at her, "Can't you stop harping on about that? I told you," he ground out through clenched teeth, "I'll get some help."

"When?" she asked, letting the single syllable hang in the air. She took a deep breath, "Charlie, you're a wonderful man and I love being with you. But it's the "you" I met in Afghanistan I love. The leader." She smiled gently to herself, remembering, "Even the disciplinarian," she continued, "but this ain't you. I know you've had to give up the Army. And I know it's tough. Christ, I know what that would feel like to me. God I understand that. But it's like you've lost yourself. You're angry and you're bitter and you lash out at everythin'. And when you do, it hurts." He made to interrupt but she held her hand up, needing to continue her train of thought. If she didn't say it now, then she worried she might not say it. "It hurts because I want to help you, and I can't. Because you won't let me. But mostly it hurts because you were the first man I ever loved. The first man I ever allowed myself to love. And now I can hardly recognise that man. You look like him. But you aren't him."

She finished in tears. She was not a demonstrative woman, and to say what she had said, to put what she felt into words had been difficult. But she needed to make him understand how much she cared for him and that she wanted to help. And stop him pushing her away, because even though she thought she did love him, there was only so much she could take.

He stared at her as tear tracks traced down her face. She continued to stare at him, willing him to understand that not only was his illness impacting him but also her and his parents and the others around him. She knew he hid it from Sam but he couldn't hide it from the people who knew him well. As their eyes stayed locked on one another she thought she saw something. Yes, there it was. A distinct softening in his expression. Still staring at her he told her, "I'm sorry Molly. I've been selfish, haven't I?" She smiled gently, glad that he was getting it as he reached out to hug her. "I didn't realise that you were hurting as well as me."

What an idiot he was. What did he think she was? Chopped liver? Were all men like this, or just him? "Well you're a stupid prat then aren't you?" she told him as she enjoyed the feeling of being wrapped up in his strong arms. There hadn't been too many hugs since she'd got back from Nuneaton.

"I suppose so," he replied tearfully. "Molly?" he continued, pulling back from the hug but still holding her upper arms. He reached out to tilt her head up with his finger so he could look into her eyes, "I don't want you to even consider leaving the Army for me. You're right. I am angry and upset about leaving the Army. But I can't be angry with the Army. I should be grateful to it. Remember; the Army brought us together. There's no way we would've met otherwise would we?"

"Well not unless you and some of your toffee-nosed mates decided to get your nails done for one of your poncey stag nights!" She wasn't sure where that had come from, it'd just slipped out. Molly Dawes was back to her best!

"I'll just take that as a "no" then shall I?!" he noted, smiling at her. She smiled back in agreement. "The Army's been my home for many years," he continued, "But I was already wondering whether I should leave, even this time last year. I was wondering whether a peacetime army would suit me. I guess the difference is I expected to leave on my own terms. And now I can't." She made to interrupt to tell him that that didn't matter, but he held his hand up to stop her, "But it's not about me. Molly – you are brilliant at your job. You're a good soldier." Now he grinned, "You'd be a better one if you weren't so gobby and you obeyed the chain of command occasionally!"

"Oi!" she exclaimed.

"But you're a fantastic medic. I should know," he continued, all traces of levity disappearing, "And it would be a massive loss to the Army if you left at this stage in your career. You've got a lot to offer Molly. Don't throw it all away."

She smiled sadly, "Thanks Charlie." Praise from him was still something that mean a lot to her, particularly when it came to her professional abilities. But his next words, more than any that had gone before, raised her spirits.

"And you're right. I'll make an appointment to see my GP next week. I'll tell him I need some help."

She looked at him, realising how difficult that admission had been for him. "I'm sorry Charlie," she told him, "But I just want to see you gettin' better."

"No," he replied, "you're right." He paused, but then managed to bring himself back to the present, "So, we've got eight days before you have to report back. What should we do with them?"

\- OG - OG - OG - OG -

Molly paused in unpacking her photographs, getting ready to stick them up on the pinboard next to her desk. It was both good and bad to be back. The last 8 days of her leave had passed quickly, shared out between Bath and London. Things had been better with Charles but were still not that great at times. When they were good they were really good, the best she had ever experienced in a relationship, but when he went through a bad patch they were still difficult. And he had put off the GP appointment further. In fact he hadn't even made it yet. She was worried about that, but there was now precious little she could do about it. She had spent the last two days in London and had enjoyed seeing the family, probably more so because she knew she was moving out in a few days. Even though she hoped to see them at Christmas, she probably wouldn't spend more than a night at home, if that. She reckoned she'd have a pretty good chance of getting Christmas leave this year, especially given she'd been on active service for Christmas last year, but she'd cross that bridge when she came to it.

Putting on her uniform should have felt a bit weird after all the weeks wearing civi clothes, but actually it seemed natural to her. She had felt a massive thrill of belonging as she'd reported to the driver at Aldershot station and seen the other soldiers. One of the interesting facts about the unit she was joining, 4 Medical Regiment, was that they would move into the refurbished Keogh Barracks in summer next year. Keogh was where she had done her advanced training, so it really felt like she was going full circle.

She had reported to Lieutenant Hawkins, who would be her new CO in 423 Medical Squadron. He had introduced her to Sergeant Reid, who had welcomed her and run through some of the paperwork with her, but not before telling her that he was sending her on the PNCO course at Catterick in January. She had been dumbfounded. Obviously Major White had suggested that she was a candidate for advanced CLM but to actually be told that you were going on the course was amazing.

She, Molly Dawes, was going on a course which, if she passed, would see her promoted to Lance Corporal. She was a little bit surprised by her own reaction and the feeling of excitement which spread through her. The old Molly had only wanted to serve, to get away from her shitty life. But the new Molly was different, she realised. The new Molly wanted to be all that she could be. The new Molly wanted to show that she could be the best. To show all those doubters – her Dad, her Mum, Artan, her so-called friends. But she also wanted to do it to repay those people who had taken a chance on her or believed in her – her Nan, Major O'Brien, Corporal Geddings, Jackie, Major Beck, Two Section (eventually), Qaseem and Charlie. What was interesting was that when she thought about those lists, all of the people except one in the good camp were Army, and all of those in the bad camp were civilians. That probably told her more about where she belonged than anything else, she thought.

She was broken out of her musings by a knock at the door. Startled, she looked up. "Matty! What are you doing here?" she exclaimed.

Matty Smith walked into the room. A few years on from when they had first met at Keogh he was still a happy-looking man in his twenties with short dark hair and brown eyes. But now he sported a Lance Corporal's chevron as well. Matty had been just about to finish Keogh when she started and they had met in the canteen one day in her first week. He was from East London as well, although his accent was not as pronounced as Molly's, and they had bonded over a meal of bangers and mash and recollections of their old stomping grounds. He had been a mentor to Molly during the first few months of her course, before he was posted to Afghanistan, and they had kept in touch ever since.

Now he grinned at her, "I heard that my squadron had a new addition and wanted to check her out in the flesh."

Molly groaned, "Don't tell me I'm in your squadron. Oh God – kill me now!"

Matty grinned viciously, "Don't worry Mols, I'll go easy on you. For about 10 minutes!" but his face became serious as he looked her up and down, "You look pretty good, considerin' you've done two back to back tours since I last saw you at Keogh. How are you holdin' up?"

Molly knew she could tell the truth with Matty, just as she could with Jackie. They had both been there and done that. "I won't deny it's been tough at times mate, but there were some great times as well."

He smiled at her, "Amen to that. Still pleased you picked the Army?"

She grinned back, "Beats doin' nails! I mean obviously I do have to hang around with tossers like you but luckily not that often!"

"Charmin'!" he exclaimed, "Well do you fancy comin' with this tosser to get some tea and meet some of your new mates or are you too busy washin' your hair?!"

She looked around her new room, deciding she was pretty OK with where she was on her unpacking, "Yeah go on, you can tell me what you've been up to," she told him, before pointing at his rank chevron and asking cheekily, "and how many arses you had to kiss to get that?"

\- OG - OG - OG - OG -

One of the things that had become very clear to Molly was how much she'd let her fitness go while she was on leave. This was particularly obvious at the present time, given that when Matty had heard she was to go on the PNCO course, a course which he had recently taken and passed, he had offered to help her with her fitness. Which was why she was currently struggling to keep up with him after only a few miles of what was likely to become their regular morning run!

"I still can't believe you agreed to go on the PNCO course in January? And you call me a numpty!"

The bastard wasn't even sweating. She, on the other hand, felt like she'd sweated buckets and could barely even speak, "Well it's not like I could exactly say no! No I don't want to be promoted sir." She gasped.

The bastard laughed! "Wake up Molly! You could schedule another course. Have some family issue, etcetera. No-one wants to do a course like that in the middle of winter."

Well, maybe she had been naïve. Certainly Lieutenant Hawkins, known within the squadron as "The Hawk", had looked a bit surprised, as she told Matty.

"Surprised?!" he barked, laughing, "He probably about had a heart attack!"

She couldn't believe she hadn't seen it coming. "Maybe I am a numpty then," she groaned.

He laughed derisively at her, "A fucking double numpty! With knobs on! Not only do you have to do the course durin' the absolute worst time of the year, but you also only give us a month to knock all that flab off."

"Oi!" She wasn't having any of that, "Steady on mate – I'm not that out of shape!"

"Oh yeah?" he laughed, "How come you're strugglin' to keep up and we've only run two miles?"

"I'm not. I just didn't sleep that well last night." She told him. Charles hadn't called and she hadn't been able to get through on his mobile. She'd called the house and Celia hadn't known where he was either but assured Molly that she would ask him to call. She was worried. They had used to speak every day when she was in the country, but now he often didn't take her calls. She didn't think it was just her; she'd seen him declining to answer calls from his friends when they had been together over the past few weeks.

This time Matty did sneer at her, "You keep tellin' yourself that Mols. Like you're gonna get any sleep on the course!" He was right about that, she supposed. She looked up and saw he was quite a way in front of her, a fact that he'd seemed to pick up as well, because he called, "Now get your arse in gear, Dawesy! I want my breakfast before we start work and at this rate we won't get back before dinner!"

And he still wasn't sweating. The bastard!

* * *

 **A/N 1: For those wondering, Major O'Brien is the officer that passed Molly into basic training during the pilot. "Just give me a chance"/"And why should I do that?"/"Because I've never had one!"**

 **A/N 2: Thanks to everyone who genuinely reviewed, your taking the time out and your comments are very much appreciated.**

 **A/N 3: I've deleted all the troll reviews.**

 **And now on to something completely different...**

* * *

 **OMAKE**

BANG BANG BANG

"Oi! Klipdoctor! I want a word with you!"

 _Uh oh…_

"Uh oh? UH OH? Damn right "uh oh". You are so busted mate!"

 _Oh come on Mols._

"Don't you "Mols" me! When we talked last time I told you I don't like being shot and what did you do? Not only did you have me shot, but you bloody killed me!"

 _But it was only a dream. You were back to your best a few minutes later. It doesn't count._

"It bloody does! It still bloody hurts you know, and I have to go through all that makeup and be made to look all yucky. It totally ruined my hair! And on top of that I told you we wanted a love story. A LOVE STORY. Lots of Charlie, and our families. You could've put his family in the first chapter and you avoided it. How hard can it be?"

 _Well, you know, it's a script. TV producers don't like to hire extra actors for tiddly parts 'cos they cost money. You didn't seem to complain that you didn't get introduced to Charles' parents in the first series…_

"Yeah, whatever. And not content with not introducin' me to Charlie's parents you bloody gave him PTSD. You're such a twat!"

 _Charming. But I've learnt my lesson. People want drama and angst, not happy families. So you'll just have to manage._

"And what's with leaving out the rest of Two Section? I'd have liked to have caught up with Nude Nut, Baz and Kinders!"

 _Economics again I'm afraid. I notice you didn't mention Fingers._

"What? That Judas? He's dead to me now. DEAD! D'you hear?"

 _OK, OK. No need to get all shouty-pointy like you do in Eastenders! Still, at least you've got Matty and Jacky in your life now._

"Yeah, it was nice to see Matty. The last time I saw him was in _Missed Me_ , and it's nice to have a BFF again."

 _You see, it's not all bad._

"Yeah but I could do without you implying I'm fat!"

 _I never said you were fat!_

"You make me go runnin' all the time! And Matty said I was flabby!"

 _Oh that. You should be happy I cut the running montage out of it then! It would have looked great on TV but been a bit pointless in a story. But anyway, you must understand – you were the one who said there's a difference between Army fit and normal fit!_

"Grrrr! I wish you'd stop usin' my own words against me. You're such a tosser sometimes!"

 _Maybe I'll change my middle name to that. From the sound of things there's other people who think it would be a good idea too!_

"So let's get this straight. Stop having me shot and at least put some nice bits in or I'll have to send round the heavies!"

 _We'll see. As you know…_

"Yeah, nothing's ever straightforward for Molly Dawes…"


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own Our Girl. Everything you recognise was created by Tony Grounds and is owned by the BBC.**

 **Author's notes at the bottom.**

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

This had to be the worst course she had ever been on, Molly thought. It had started off OK. The first week had been classroom-based and she was quite surprised that she hadn't found it half as taxing as she thought it would be. The second week consisted of field-based lessons and exercises on the Catterick training area. That had not been so fun, although Matty had helped her prepare herself as much as possible, which she really appreciated. It was bloody cold, wet and very windy, and they had hauled themselves out of their warm beds in the dark in the mornings and collapsed into them at night, absolutely knackered and desperately trying to stay warm.

For the third week they had transferred to the Garelochhead camp in western Scotland. After an initiative exercise in Glasgow on the first day, which had actually been quite fun, their class had then been combined with part of the JNCO class and together they had carried out a number of additional exercises with the JNCO candidates functioning as senior NCOs and officers and their class as junior NCOs. Molly was proud that her team had managed to achieve all the initiative tests, although a bit embarrassed that they had traded on her MC to convince a researcher on a local radio station to get them on air. Still, she thought she had redeemed herself with her suggestion that they staked out the TV studios in order to find someone famous. They had managed to get a photo with some local politician that Billy had recognised – Alex Salmon or something. What a strange name.

For the most part the course had been do-able though, mostly thanks to Matty's training. She'd have to buy him something as a thank you. She had made some good friends as well. Probably the best was Johnno, who had announced himself on the first night in Barracks. He had been looking at her strangely all day and had finally come up to her that night. Molly, who had noted the strange looks, was a bit freaked out but he had asked, "Have we ever served together before? You look really familiar."

She had grinned at him tiredly, observing, "If that's a chat up line mate, you need to work on your material!"

But he had told her he was serious and then asked, "Were you on Herrick 19?"

She had been surprised and told him that she was, attached to A Company of the Under Fives. She had been equally surprised when he told her he was in B Company and knew a lot of her mates, including Micklar, Fingers and Mansfield.

He asked why he didn't know her and she told him she was a late replacement for the medic. By now most of the group was listening in and there were expressions of amazement as he exclaimed, "No way. You're the one that crawled across the minefield to save Smurf? I heard about it at Bastion."

She'd told him, embarrassed, that she was just doing her job and then he asked her about saving Captain James' life at the end of the tour. She tried to explain to him, "It weren't like that. You make it sound all heroic and shit. We were just doin' our jobs and it was a crappy day at the office! I'm a medic – it's my job to provide medical support." He had let her off the hook, seeing she didn't want to talk about it, and since then they had become firm friends.

Pete was another of their group, and Feathers, a lance corporal who was one of the JNCO candidates, had also turned into a good mate. But to be fair Molly got on pretty well with all the people on the course, with the obvious exception of Collins.

To be fair, Jeff Collins didn't really seem to get on with anybody. He seemed to have a massive chip on his shoulder and didn't engage in any of the group exercises. Although he was fine if he was in command, he was an awful team player and tried to undermine everyone in the chain of command above him. Two days ago Molly had had to slap him down hard during an all-day orienteering exercise and he was still sending glares her way when he thought she didn't notice. Feathers had tried to reassure her, "I shouldn't worry about it Mols. You were well within your rights. You were platoon sergeant for the exercise and I was the leader. You and I decided the strategy and you told the platoon. He didn't have a leg to stand on." but it was clear that Collins didn't see it that way.

Now they were on the home stretch. Only a night orienteering exercise and a day/night exercise to go, and they were just waiting for Sergeant Philipson and Corporal Jones to brief them on the first of those.

\- OG - OG - OG - OG -

 _Oh boy_ , thought Molly, _I certainly came up trumps on this one – not!_ They were currently engaged on an overnight small group orienteering exercise. The group consisted of Feathers in command, Johnno filling the role of junior NCO and Molly and Collins as the troops. Corporal Jones was accompanying them as an observer but they had been instructed to ignore him.

Collins was being his usual friendly self, ie seemingly purposefully not understanding orders and being pretty difficult. Molly wondered, not for the first time, if Collins was a ringer, deliberately included in the course to cause trouble for the candidates. She couldn't believe that any officer would have put someone like him forward for promotion otherwise. The only other excuse would be, as Pete had put it, "you know he's just some REMF arsehole who's a big fish in a small puddle and comes into a course like this and meets real soldiers, and can't deal." She wasn't sure which it was, but he was certainly a royal pain in the neck!

They had been moving for three hours, the last hour mostly uphill, when Feathers called a halt on the side of a ravine, surrounded by bushes and slightly sheltered from the wind. It was freezing cold, and heavy rain was forecast for later that night. She supposed she should be grateful it wasn't snow but it was bleeding cold and felt like it _could_ snow if it wanted to.

Feathers started unpacking his map, telling them, "Take five guys, while I sort out the next leg." Molly, Johnno and Corporal Jones sat down for a few seconds to take the weight off. Collins seemed to glare at them and then moved off to sit at the side. They spent a few moments enjoying the feeling of not walking as Feathers looked at the map and then he came over to speak to them.

"OK guys," he started, "We've got a bit of a choice to make," he said, making an effort to include Collins as well with his body language, "Obviously we need to get there fast but the most direct route to the east is pretty steep and rocky and with rain in the air I'm a bit worried. The next fastest route is safer but longer. What do you think?" he looked around, but only Molly and Johnno met his eyes. Collins continued to stare at the ground.

Johnno asked, "What's the difference in distance?"

"It's about three clicks. Figure under two hours," replied Feathers.

They looked at each other. Molly decided to kick it off, "I'm for safety. I don't fancy having to carry one of you lot all the way to the rendezvous if someone falls over!"

Feathers looked at Johnno, "I hate that it'll take us longer but Molly's right," he observed, just as Collins rose to his feet angrily.

"I'm sick of this shit!" he all but shouted, "Just cos Johnno and Dawes were in Afghanistan you reckon the sun shines out of their arses. I was in mountain rescue for three years but no-one ever asks me for my opinion. We need to get there as quickly as possible and going east is the quickest way to get there. Let's go." He concluded, swinging round and walking to the east, without waiting for anyone else's opinion.

"No! Wait you idiot!" called Feathers, "It's too steep down there. We have to go the other way whichever route we're taking."

Collins was out of sight by now and they heard his irritation as he called back, "It's perfectly fine," but then there was a moment of silence, and then a muttered "Shit."

"Are you OK?" called Molly. The guy was an arse but they needed all of them to get to the rendezvous.

"Yeah, no problems," replied Collins, but this time he sounded cautious. Just then they heard a choked exclamation, the sound of a fall, a scream and then the crashing sound a body makes as it falls through bushes and undergrowth.

"SHIT! What's that idiot gone and done now?!" Feathers seemed to speak for all of them, even Corporal Jones, in this instance.

Molly called out, asking whether Collins was OK, but there was only the sound of silence. They shared a look. "Bollocks," said Feathers, clearly channelling all of them again, "he must have fallen down that ravine. It's too dangerous to go after him. If we go back the way we came and descend a bit we should be able to get to him."

Molly quickly clambered to her feet, "Let's go," she told her companions, "If he's not answerin' he could be unconscious."

"Or he could just be being a dick," grumbled Johnno under his breath, but he got up as well and they proceeded down the ravine.

\- OG - OG - OG - OG -

Unfortunately he wasn't just being a dick. They found Collins, sprawled out unconscious, in a hollow about 200 feet down the ravine. Molly immediately embarked on an examination and didn't like what she found. The man's pupils were slightly dilated and he had blood on his head, but of more immediate concern was what they found when Molly started cutting away his trouser leg, drawn by the sight of blood.

"Shit!" exclaimed Johnno, sounding queasy. And well might he, given the piece of white bone sticking out of Collins' right leg, and the blood welling out of the wound. Molly reacted immediately, rooting in her pack and locating a tourniquet, which she tied around the man's upper thigh. Reaching into the pack on her waist she pulled out her surgical gloves.

Then she turned to Corporal Jones and announced in a business-like tone, "Corp. I'm declarin' a medical emergency as of this time. I request termination of the exercise and immediate medevac to the nearest hospital."

Jones looked at her steadily, then nodded, "I concur." He reached for his radio as Molly reached for her Med Bergen and started to pull equipment from it. "Bravo Whisky Command, this is Bravo Three. Over," he called into the radio, then repeated it when there was no answer. He asked the others to call but there was no answer from their radios either. Their position, and the expected bad weather seemed to be interfering with the radio signal. Unfortunately none of them were carrying a phone either.

Meanwhile Molly had calmly carried on treating Collins while everyone was working to make contact with command. After concluding her ABC checks she had removed his helmet, fitted him with a neck support and put in place a back board to support his spine, and was now feeling gently around his thigh. She tried her own radio as she unpacked a space blanket to wrap around the injured man.

"What's his condition, Dawes?" asked Corporal Jones.

"It ain't good Corp," Molly told him, looking away from her patient. Given the failure to establish radio contact she had already considered what they'd need to do, "If we can't medevac I'm goin' to have to try to set his leg and stop the bleedin'. The head injury and unconsciousness is also a major problem. With the cold an' all he's likely to go into shock." She took a deep breath, knowing that what she was about to propose went against what they should do in an emergency but due to the severity of Collins' injuries she needed to propose it, "He needs medical treatment ASAP. Would two of you continue to the rendezvous and tell them we need help and if one of you could stay here with me? Corp, maybe you should go to the rendezvous since you know the area better and might save a little time?"

Surprising her, Corporal Jones agreed right away. Maybe he'd already reached the same conclusion as well. He ordered Feathers to accompany him and Johnno to stay with Molly.

Molly continued, "I don't think they'll be able to get back here on foot before first light so please ask them to send a chopper with a winch – they won't be able to land around here and we can't move him far. I'll write up some notes for you to take with you so they'll know what to send." She was trying to remember everything she'd been taught. This was a world away from Afghanistan. "Does either of you have a tent or any spare space blankets?" she asked, knowing it was a long shot, "I don't want to take any of your personal survival gear just in case you need it but anythin' you can leave that could help us keep him warm?"

As Feathers and Jones started sorting through their packs to see what they could leave, Molly turned to Johnno, "I'm gonna need your help to set his leg, mate," she told him.

Johnno looked at the leg nervously, "I'm not that good with first aid Mols," he observed.

Molly smiled gently. She'd seen this before, but she hadn't expected Johnno to be someone who was scared of the sight of blood! "Doesn't matter," she told him, "The only way to get this set again is to pull his leg out and then I'll try to guide the two pieces back into place. I'm gonna give him some morphine for the pain."

Johnno continued to look unsure, as did Corporal Jones. He asked, "Are you sure Molly?"

She looked at both of them, "If I don't re-set his leg as soon as possible it's just gonna cause massive complications and he may never get back full use of it. I know he's a dick but I wouldn't wish that on anyone." They understood where she was coming from. While she'd much rather wait and get his leg re-set in a hospital, that option just wasn't open to her. She wasn't crazy about doing the procedure since it would be the first time she'd actually done it on a person, but as she had said, it needed to be done and she needed to do it.

She told Johnno to take Collins' boots off. For her instructions she tried to project confidence into her voice, knowing the others needed the reassurance that she knew what she was doing. "OK guys," she told them, "Feathers, I need you to hold him around the pelvis so that he doesn't slip down. Johnno and Corp – on three - you two pull his leg towards you – steady but strong. I'll guide the bone back into place."

They all looked at her nervously and she tried to smile reassuringly. "Everyone ready?" she asked, "OK. On three. One…two…three." Johnno and Corp pulled the leg down, allowing Molly to gently guide the bone into the right position. All the time she tried to provide a quiet commentary to them to reassure them that they were doing OK. Eventually the bone was in the right position and she sprung into action, packing the leg up with gauze and wound dressings to hold it tight and applying a splint and fixing it in position. Finishing, she wiped her sweaty brow with the back of her bloody, gloved hand and looked up to see all three of them staring at her admiringly.

"Everythin' OK?" she asked, puzzled.

"Yeah," Jones answered, "just not something you see every day Dawesy!"

"Thank God!" Johnno noted.

"Amen to that," muttered Molly, although she reckoned she'd done as well as she could under the circumstances. Now if Jones and Feathers could just get back in time and that prat Collins didn't go into shock or freeze to death, then he should be OK. She hoped.

\- OG - OG - OG - OG -

"Mols?" Johnno's voice was quiet and she could just see his face as he snapped on his torch, "It's 20 minutes 'til first light."

"Shit!" she muttered, "I can't believe I fell asleep." And she couldn't, either. After the others had left, Johnno had constructed a small shelter by hanging a cut up survival bag from a wire between two trees and then she and Johnno had dragged Collins into it. It was a good thing too because within 10 minutes of getting the shelter together it had started raining and the rain had been of biblical proportions.

They had managed, by careful positioning, to keep him pretty dry but, even though Molly and Johnno had done the best they could with the materials available to them, they hadn't been able to build out the shelter enough for both of them to stay dry. They had stayed out of the direct rainfall as much as possible but the water running down the hillside and blowing in had still pretty much soaked them.

Molly had been worried about Collins' core temperature and they had carefully worked him into a survival bag, but his temperature kept falling. Eventually Molly had had to make the ultimate sacrifice and take her clothes off and get into the bag with Collins, hoping against hope that not only would it be enough to raise his temperature, but also that the idiot wouldn't wake up and try to take advantage of her. Being stuck in a survival bag with only her underwear and a T-shirt was not a great situation to be in. She had tried to persuade Johnno to do it but he had, accurately, pointed out that he was a big guy, as was Collins, and a much smaller Molly would be a better fit.

She hadn't wanted to do it but he was right. And anyway, her Nan always said that you often have to do things you don't want to. She had pointed out to Johnno that if he told anyone about this he was a dead man, before she started taking off her boots and soaking uniform.

Now it was just before first light and she honestly couldn't believe that she had slept. "How long was I out for?" she asked.

"About 20 minutes," he replied. She couldn't see his face in the darkness but he didn't sound upset.

"Sorry," she told him, apologetically.

"Don't worry," he sounded surprised, "You had a lot to do taking care of him, so I wouldn't begrudge you forty winks! How is he by the way?"

Molly was already examining her bag-mate. She took his temperature and shone her torch into his eyes. "He seems to be OK. No worse anyway. His temperature's better. I'll give it another 20 minutes and then start getting dressed. Hopefully our taxi should get here around dawn. I could kill a cuppa!"

"Aw don't Mols," groaned Johnno.

She was just hoping the guys had made it to the rendezvous in one piece. They hadn't heard a peep out of their radios. If the guys hadn't made it, it could take significantly longer to get Collins evacuated and she worried that he didn't have that long.

* * *

 **A/N 1: The structure of Molly's course is based on that written up in a September 2010 edition of Gunner (the magazine of the Royal Artillery). I've found write ups for PNCO courses run by the Royal Artillery and the Gurkhas but I haven't found anything for a PNCO course run by RAMC, so this chapter is based on what I've read. Everything you read about the course in this chapter is correct except I have to admit that I've totally made up the small group exercise and apologise if it's not realistic, but dramatic needs must...!**

 **A/N 2: ABC stands for Airway, Breathing, Circulation.**

 **A/N 3: OMAKES: Opinion seems to be split 50/50 in the like/dislike camp. I've made them detached from the actual chapter text so you don't have to read it if you don't want to. I fully understand that it's not some people's cup of tea.**

 **A/N 4: REVIEWS: I'd like to thank everyone who took the time out to give me constructive or supportive reviews or PMs. It is, as always, very much appreciated. I'm not going to say too much else because, frankly, I'm on this site to write fanfiction, and 99% of the people are here to read it. Just that. We are OG fans and we like to read about the wonderful characters that TG invented. People are obviously entitled to their opinions but that doesn't give you the right to personally insult me, tell outright lies about me on this or other sites, or pursue a puerile vendetta which includes uploading fake positive reviews (which I have deleted but kept a copy of). As a reviewer highlighted, I would direct certain people to sections 1 and 2 of section 127 of the Communications Act (2003) but I would also flag the Protection from Harassment Act (1997). I have deleted all the troll reviews and hopefully there will be no more.**

* * *

 **OMAKE**

"You just couldn't wait to get me in my knickers again, could you Klipdoctor?"

 _It was only in the context of the story Molly. And it wasn't like I had you in a full-on sex scene, despite the baying herd!_

"I would have preferred a full on sex scene!"

 _What? With Collins?_

"NO! With Charlie, you prannet! Uggh, I can't believe you said that. I'm scarred for life by that image."

 _Actually I'm pretty scarred too. Sorry._

"You seem to really like putting me through the ringer – what is it with you? Are you some kind of sadist?"

 _Nah, I just like you to show what you're capable of. Both for us and you. Because you always seem to underestimate yourself._

"Why don't you put someone else through the ringer then?"

 _Well the series is called "Our Girl" Molly. You're supposed to be the hero, or heroine I guess. I mean, we could maybe change it to "Our Boy" and make it about Charles, and maybe give you a guest starring role…_

"Oi! Steady on. I'm the star, me! I've got all those years on Eastenders behind me."

 _…or maybe we could make it about Fingers. I mean he's in a soap now, and he's a pretty good actor, and he's building up a good fan following…_

"STOP RIGHT NOW! Enough of this. Forget I said anythin'. It's "Our Girl", and it's about me, Molly Dawes. And that traitor doesn't come anywhere near it OK?"

 _If you say so…_


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own Our Girl. Everything you recognise was created by Tony Grounds and is owned by the BBC.**

 **Author's notes at the bottom.**

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

Molly was just tying her bootlaces when Johnno cocked his head. He had been a great companion over the duration of the course, always with an amusing comment or story, and a perfect gentleman last night, looking away both when she was undressing during the night, and when she was trying to pull her sodden uniform back on that morning.

"Molly? D'you hear that?" Johnno asked. She looked at him, but after a few seconds she could hear it too. Definitely the sound of a helicopter. Not the heavy whump whump whump of a Chinook. Something smaller then, but hopefully big enough.

"Have you got a flare?" she asked Johnno.

He brandished one, grinning at her, "Sure do."

"Great," she replied, "Pop it when they get in sight and I'll start getting him sorted for his ride."

She did as good as she said, turning back to Collins and making sure he was strapped into his stretcher and as stable as he could be to be winched up. She heard the whoosh of the flare, and turned briefly to see a bright yellow RAF Sea King helicopter making for their position. The RAF to the rescue again. She remembered what a Godsend they'd been in Afghanistan. Moving personnel and equipment, keeping the post going and always being there for a Casevac, no matter how dangerous. She turned back to her job, double checking his splint and tourniquet, then double checked the neck support and made sure his airway was still clear.

By this point the chopper was practically overhead and the noise was deafening. Johnno had taken the time to tidy up their shelter and gather their gear together. As they looked up they saw someone being winched down. The newcomer landed lightly, unclipped and turned to her.

"Private Molly Dawes, RAMC," she introduced herself, followed by Johnno introducing himself.

"Corporal Roger Short, RAF" said the new man, who they could both see had a red cross on his arm, denoting a medic.

Pleasantries over, Molly jumped right into her report, "Thanks for coming, and boy, are we pleased to see you! He's got a bad head injury and has been unconscious since the fall. I've kept his neck and spine immobilised. He had a compound fracture of the right femur but we've re-set it and packed it up and I've controlled the bleeding. He's been in shock but we've tried to keep his core temperature as high as possible."

Short seemed happy to accept her report. "How do you want to play it?" he asked.

"Are you carrying a doctor?" she asked.

"No, just me," he replied.

She grimaced. That wasn't ideal. Collins needed a doctor ASAP. Making her decision she suggested, mindful that he was senior to her but that she had a much better idea of the patient's condition, "OK, why don't you take Johnno and our gear up now with you and then I'll come up with the casualty. Then we've got to get him to hospital ASAP."

The Corporal seemed amenable to that and that was how they did it. As Molly went up in the winch she reflected that being winched up with Smurf in the heat of Afghan was certainly a more enjoyable experience than being winched up in Scotland with a biting wind and wearing a sodden uniform! Mind you, at least she didn't have to crawl across a minefield and get blown up this time!

\- OG - OG - OG - OG -

Molly waited outside Sergeant Philipson's office back at Garelochhead, enjoying the feeling of her clean, and most importantly, dry, uniform, and the warmth of being inside. They had been back for a few hours. Collins was stabilised and the Sarge had come to pick them up from the waiting room at the hospital, wrinkling his nose as he stood close to them, and complaining about the smell. They had both been grabbing a nap in the hospital waiting room when the sergeant had arrived and she had woken up just long enough to give him a quick report and transfer to the waiting Land Rover, before she had succumbed again to sleep. With a day/night exercise to follow she needed to catch up as quickly as she could.

"DAWES!" came the Sergeant's call from inside.

She went into the room, bracing respectfully to attention. Sergeant Philipson was sitting behind the desk. To her surprise Corporal Jones was standing by the wall.

"At ease Dawes," he told her and she stood at ease.

"Sarge. You wanted to see me?" she asked respectfully.

He stared at her piercingly for a second and then answered her, "Yes Dawes. As you know, we've got one more exercise to do over the next two days. Given what happened last night and given Corporal Jones' report, I'm prepared to excuse you from that exercise if you would like?"

She was dumbfounded. She flicked her eyes to Corporal Jones, wondering what he'd told the sergeant, but he just stared right back at her. It wasn't normal to be excused from exercises. Were they washing her out?

"Sarge?" she asked.

The sergeant gestured to Corporal Jones who gave a small smile, "Your behaviour last night was exemplary Dawes. You took control of the situation and demonstrated excellent leadership qualities. In conjunction with the strong teamwork you've previously demonstrated I would have no problem with recommending you for promotion."

She couldn't be more surprised if Prince Harry tapdanced into the room wearing a pink tutu! She didn't have to do the last exercise. She could sleep all night! This was the best! But then another thought intruded on her feelings of euphoria. What about the others? She didn't owe Collins anything but the other guys had been good colleagues, good teammates.

She looked at the sergeant, "But the other boys aren't being excused are they Sarge? Johnno and Feathers?"

He smiled tightly. "No, they're not Dawes."

Well, there was only one answer then. She took a deep breath, "Then I'd like to do the exercise, Sarge. It wouldn't be fair otherwise."

She knew she'd given the right answer when the sergeant broke into an approving smile. He told her, "OK Dawes. Be ready to leave at 16.00."

She smiled back at him, braced to attention and left, mentally cataloguing everything she'd need to do, including replenishing her medical bag, before she left.

\- OG - OG - OG - OG -

Charles James sat in Costa Coffee in Aldershot and wondered again whether he was doing the right thing. It had appeared so easy when he had made the decision last week while Molly was on her course, but seemed much more difficult now that he was actually going to pull the trigger. One part of his brain told him it wasn't really a decision he should have made without consulting Molly, but another part told him that she wouldn't really care anyway. He knew that wasn't true but he found himself more and more distrustful of others recently and her harping on at him to see someone had really got on his nerves. Well, he _had_ seen someone and he was going to take the course of action recommended. And she would just have to deal with it.

To be fair, he knew Molly had only been urging him to get help because she cared, and he cared about her, but he had begun to feel more and more that he needed to deal with this on his own and she had a life to be getting on with. While he was delighted that she was making a success of the Army, he couldn't help feeling left behind by her and that just made him feel even more isolated. Living at home with his parents wasn't helping. They had their own social life, while he had nothing. Most of his friends from university were in London and, after nearly 8 years in the Army, he just didn't feel that he had much in common with them any more. That just added to the feeling of isolation. Plus the fact that he didn't want to go to the pub; being around large gatherings of people made him nervous these days.

His mother had also started complaining about how much he was drinking. She told him it wasn't normal to be going through a bottle of whisky a week. He knew lots of people that drunk more than that, and anyway, the whisky helped him to sleep. When she persisted last week he had just had to tell her to shut the fuck up. He had been upset when he saw her hurt expression, but she needed to learn not to try and mother him.

He knew he was behaving badly, but he didn't really know what to do about it. His friend Ben had recommended a therapist that had helped some of his friends and he had gone to see the guy. Pete Mitchell, his name was. Pete had listened to his tale, asked quite a few questions, and told him he needed a complete break. He had had some useful pieces of advice, and that was why Charles was meeting Molly today. He hoped she'd understand, but he feared she wouldn't.

He was jerked out of his reverie by the sight of Molly walking into the coffee shop. She was dressed in a jumper and pair of denim jeans, covered by a black anorak. She looked good, but she also looked bad. Her hair was windswept and she looked happy and well, but she also looked tired with black marks under her eyes and a healing cut across her right cheek.

She'd spotted him and walked up to him, an excited smile on her face. Charles began to feel even worse as he got up to greet her.

"Hello stranger," she told him, stopping next to him.

He kissed her on the cheek and greeted her, "Molly. Thanks for coming." He sat down, and invited her to do so as well, trying to avoid her gaze. He could already see that she sensed something was wrong and cursed himself for making this harder.

"How did your course go?" he offered.

She was looking at him strangely, trying to meet his eyes, "It was pretty tough but I got through."

"Good," he replied, trying to think about how to broach the subject.

He shouldn't have worried as in true Molly fashion she seized the bull by the horns, "Charlie? Is everythin' all right? You seem a bit distracted."

He looked at her briefly. Her beautiful green eyes were blazing at him across the table. He couldn't hold her eyes. This was going to be harder than he thought. "I've been seeing someone about my issues," he explained.

Molly looked confused, "That's good ain't it?"

He nodded choppily, still trying to avoid looking at her, "I met this guy called Pete Mitchell who specialises in PTSD and he's made some recommendations."

Molly was getting pissed off. "Charles. Will you just look at me? And spit it out."

 _That's my Molly_ , thought Charles. Except she couldn't be. He knew he was right. It wouldn't be fair to her and it wasn't fair for him. He told her, "He advises a total break. He says I need to "find myself" again. He says I should take myself away somewhere unfamiliar and just "be"."

"This guy's a consultant?" Molly asked.

"No. He's a friend of a friend," replied Charles defensively. _This is going to be bad_ , he thought.

Molly had clearly smelled the rat, "A friend of whose?" she asked.

"Ben's," he confessed. Molly and Ben had only met once but they hadn't got on and Ben staring at her chest all the way through dinner hadn't really helped.

"Ben? Your fuckwit friend. Oh great. And have you actually spoken to a doctor about this?" Molly practically spat.

"He makes a lot of sense Molly. He helped Ben's mate Rick," explained Charles.

Molly was starting to look exasperated. Uh oh. "So how long would you just have to "be" for?" she asked.

Charles bit his lip, knowing this would be hard. "I don't know. Until I start to feel better I suppose." That wasn't really an answer but how could he say what he needed to? It didn't matter since Molly seemed to have worked it out.

"So you're breaking up with me?" she gasped.

Charles looked up into her eyes briefly, but couldn't hold her stare. Those beautiful green eyes had so much hurt in them. "I don't want to Molly," he told her, "but what do you want me to do?"

"I want you to fight for me Charles. To fight for us," she told him angrily.

Charles looked down, fighting to keep his emotions in check. If only it was that easy. "I- I can't Molly," he stuttered out, taking a deep breath, "I'm just not the person I used to be. I don't have that in me at the moment." He flicked his eyes up again but the hurt was still there, and now there were tears there as well. God, he was really fucking this up. He tried to explain it better, "I'm not saying that I can't be with you. Just that I can't be with you right now and because I _do_ care for you I think it's right that we go our separate ways for the time being. It's not right for me to tie you in."

"But what if I _want_ to be tied in?" Molly asked plaintively.

Charles smiled sadly to himself. _Get a grip James_ , he thought. He took a deep breath and looked into her eyes, willing her to understand. "But you don't really do you? You know I'm right. You're seven years younger than me Molly. You're in your prime. And you've got needs too."

Was that a glimmer of understanding, of acceptance in her eyes? "I'd put them on hold for you Charlie. You know I would," she told him.

 _How am I so lucky to have a woman like her and what kind of idiot am I for throwing this relationship away?_ he thought. He braced himself. He must do this. He must. He looked at her again. It was hard, but he needed to. He owed it to her and to him. "I know and I thank you. And if I knew I would get better quickly, if I knew the time period, even if I knew I would get better at all. Then maybe I would ask you to wait for me. But I don't Molly. I don't know who I am any more." He reached out for her hand, squeezing it gently, savouring its warmth and its softness. Savouring the feel of it. This could be the last time he felt that. "I know who I want to be. I want to be a man worthy of you. But I've lost track of who I am and how to become him. Can you understand that?"

She pulled her hand back, still angry. "I s'pose," she admitted.

"It's not that I don't love you Molly," he told her, not missing the flare of hope in her eyes, and sad to know that he had to squelch that, "because I do. But it's because I love you that I need to do this. Just as I encouraged you to go on your second tour to be all you can be. I need to be able to do that too. And I can't do it like this."

Looking at him she took a deep breath, "So what do you want from me Charles?" The tears were falling from her eyes now and he so wanted to take her head in his hands and wipe them away. But he couldn't. He was giving away that right. Throwing it away.

"I just want you to understand Molly," he told her, pleadingly, "and I'd like your blessing. And in a perfect world I'd like you not to hate me."

"I do understand Charles," she told him, looking down and adding exasperatedly, "I've been askin' you to get help for months. But this ain't really what I had in mind." She looked at him again, "Where will you go? What will you do?"

He hated doing this. He had always hated breaking up, but this was the hardest it had ever been. _Perhaps because you know this one's special_ , one part of his brain told him. "Pete Mitchell's running a course in Wales next week," he told her, "I'm going on that. Then I thought I might travel for a while. I've always wanted to go coast to coast in the US and this might be the time to go."

Suddenly all the fight, all the stubbornness, seemed to flow out of Molly. "So you've got it all planned out," she observed, tiredly, "Nothin' I could've said would've changed your mind?"

What could he say? "What do you want me to say?" he asked.

She made one last attempt, "I want you to see a proper consultant and I want you to fix it properly Charles. I want you to keep your support group around you, not throw it away. What does your mum say?"

"She doesn't know," Charles confessed.

Molly stared at him, as if seeing him for the first time. "Why are you doing this?" she asked, angrily.

"I want to feel better," he told her.

He could see the emotion writ all over her face. "Well, I suppose you have to do what you think is right," she told him, the tears falling freely again. Pushing her chair back, she stood up. "Good luck Charles," she told him, "I hope you sort yourself out." Then she almost ran out of the coffee shop, clearly trying not to lose it.

He choked out "Molly" and stood to chase her, but decided against it. There was no point in making it harder than it already was. And it was bloody hard. He sat staring in the direction she'd vanished in, not noticing the tears falling down his cheeks.

\- OG - OG - OG - OG -

Charles James paused, looking out over the amazing view. It was Saturday afternoon and their group was currently walking up Snowdon. In the old days it would have been a snip for him, but with his slightly weaker right leg, it was quite hard work. He'd paused to work the cramps out of his calf, and couldn't help notice the view. It reminded him of Molly. It had surprised him in Afghanistan when she'd said that the place was "proper nice". He had thought often that Afghanistan was a beautiful country. If it wasn't for the Taliban trying to kill them it would have been a great place to visit! But he hadn't expected Molly to pick up on it. She really had been full of surprises.

Thinking of Molly brought up all his conflicted feelings again. Had he done the right thing? In his mind he felt that he had, but in his heart he wondered. Was pushing her away the right thing to do? He knew he needed to fix himself and she had other things to be doing, but he knew that Molly was nothing if not loyal, and she would have stayed with him and helped him if she could. She'd said as much. When she agreed to go out with him, he'd thought he was the luckiest man on earth, and he wanted that feeling back. The past few months of sleeplessness, increasing isolation, heavy drinking and anger had really affected him though and he thought that she was right; he wasn't the man he used to be any more. He wanted to be that man again, and that meant he had to fix himself. Nobody else, in his mind, could do that for him.

"Alright Charles?" Pete was behind him.

"Yeah, just admiring the view. It reminded me of Molly," he told the man. He was already having doubts about whether Pete Mitchell was the right man to help him forward but he reckoned he'd given him a framework to do what he needed to do.

"Ready to move on?" asked Pete.

Well, that was a loaded question, wasn't it? Ready to move on from the view or from Molly? The truth was he _wasn't_ ready to move on from Molly, and he doubted he ever would be. Not while he was still able to breathe anyway. But the fact was, for her sake and his own, and for Sam's sake as well, he needed to get himself sorted out. He took one last look at the view, remembering.

"Yes," he turned around and followed the man up the hill.

\- OG - OG - OG - OG -

Saturday afternoon found Molly waiting for Jackie at Euston station. It had been a tough week since Charles had broken up with her last Sunday afternoon. The euphoria which she had felt after her successful pass in the PNCO course was swept away in that horrible meeting, almost as though it had never happened, and when The Hawk had called her in on Tuesday to congratulate her and tell her that her promotion to lance corporal would be effective on 28 February, she could tell that he had been surprised by her lack of reaction.

But the fact was that she was struggling. Emotionally she was totally wrung out. She'd tried to keep their break up a secret but it hadn't taken a rocket scientist to notice that something was very wrong and Matty had wheedled it out of her on Sunday night. He must have told the rest of the guys in her section because, to be fair, they'd been brilliant. Trying to keep her busy, making sure she wasn't alone except when she was sleeping and generally helping her to keep her chin up.

And she'd found herself telling Jackie as well. Jackie had commiserated with her and listened to what happened and been great. Twenty minutes after she put the phone down Jackie had called back to say that she was coming down on Saturday and that they were gonna have a good ol' knees up. Whether Molly liked it not. She wasn't sure at first, but now she was. She needed a good blow out and Jackie would help.

She'd had break ups before. Of course she had. But she'd mostly been in control before. Here the decision had been made for her. And that hurt. On top of that she had cared for Charles in a way that she had never cared for any of her other boyfriends. Before her second tour he had been a perfect gentleman. Not at all like he had been on tour. He had been warm and expressive and had treated her better than anyone ever had, both inside and outside the bedroom. In the bedroom (and in the kitchen on one brilliant occasion!) he had truly shown her how he felt about her and, unlike all of her other boyfriends who had just focused on taking what they wanted, he had been so giving. She had never had better sex than she had had with him. She had started to let him in emotionally in a way that she had let no other person into her life. That was why it hurt so much. Normally she kept everyone outside her walls, but Charles was in. The only other person she was so close to was her Nan. She was struggling. But with the help of her mates she thought she would be OK.

She wondered how he was sometimes. At least she had the framework of the Army, and her mates, to support her. He had nothing and had pushed everyone who cared about him away. She had had a depressing letter from his mother apologising for his behaviour and telling her that he had left home as well. She had written back trying to reassure Celia. The woman had always been nice to her and she thought that they could have had a great relationship under other circumstances. She hoped he was OK, because even though she was angry with him she still cared for him deeply.

Where was Jackie? It was 16.35 and her train should have arrived by now.

"Alright Mols?" she swung around to see her friend crossing the concourse towards her. She was wearing tight black jeans and a red jumper. The jeans really showed off her long legs. They hugged each other.

"Thanks for coming Jacks," Molly told her, meaning every word.

Jackie backed away from the hug, but stopped, holding Molly's upper arms, staring into her eyes. "It's a best friend's duty Mols to help a girlfriend through a break-up. But you're not looking too bad," she added, sounding a bit surprised.

"Well, Matty and the boys have been brilliant, and I've been able to get on with work and that," Molly told her.

Jackie seemed to accept that, although Molly was sure she'd come back to it later. "So," she continued, "what's the plan?"

"Well," Molly told her, "I thought drop your stuff off - then pub, club and back to the hotel."

"Not home?" This time Jackie did sound genuinely surprised.

Molly smiled at her friend, "Well I hadn't told them about Charles so they wouldn't really understand about the breakup and there'd just be more questions. Besides I've still got some of that deployment bonus from the short tour. I can certainly afford a room at a Travelodge for my best mate!" she joked, thinking back sadly to when she'd thought she might have to go halves on a Travelodge after her first date with Charles.

The corner of Jackie's mouth quirked up, "What an offer Mols. Lead on then!"

They turned around and headed for the tube station.

THE END

* * *

 **A/N 1: I can hear the shouts of anger already. Be assured I'm wearing my body armour, prepared for the reviews! I don't intend to revisit this story. The script I wrote was a standalone exercise to help me learn scriptwriting. But obviously I did give some thought to what would happen afterwards and I don't think that they would split up for ever. Charles would sort himself out eventually and come back for Molly. Whether she would take him back is the question, but I think she eventually would, providing she hadn't met anyone else in the mean-time. At least that's how I justified it in my head.**

 **A/N 2 This was a difficult plotline to write. I've been wanting to write about PTSD for a while, because I think it is an important issue and very much an elephant in the room. I've read quite a number of articles on PTSD and am pretty disgusted about the limited resources available for our veterans from the NHS. There are a number of charities which provide good support for PTSD (** ** _Combat Stress_** **and** ** _MIND_** **are two that spring to mind) but I feel strongly that the Nation, not the charitable sector, should provide after-service support for our veterans, which it currently doesn't (and realistically probably can't afford to currently). Somehow it seemed logical to make Charles have the PTSD, not Molly. I've read many stories of injured soldiers who have left the Army and some who stayed in. The ones who stayed in often found that while it was difficult, they could still take comfort from the camaraderie, while the ones that left lost that, and it did hurt them. I thought that that could happen to Charles. If I look at Charles' behaviour in the series (and not in our fanfictions) I think that the outcome I've written might be possible if he did suffer from PTSD.**

 **A/N 3 As always thanks to those who took the time to review.**

 **A/N 4 Update - June 2015 - Well, obviously this is very AU now since the second series has just been announced and Molly's not going to be in it! Hey ho!**

 **A/N 5 Update - Just a reply to those that were a bit upset about the way this ended. I'd just like to re-iterate that this is simply a write-up of a speculative script I wrote for a single episode of OG. It's not supposed to be a novel or a series. Hence all the loose ends don't get neatly tied up. It is five chapters because a one hour drama is five acts...**

* * *

 **OMAKE**

"Oi Klipdoctor, you're gonna get it now. I can't believe you reduced my Mols to tears!"

 _Hi Belinda, lovely to see you too. Sorry, but that's the way it had to be._

"Buy why? I mean I'd never met the bloke but he seemed like a great guy."

 _Well, I think he is, but if you have a drama series then you have to have some drama! Besides, the way that we fanfiction authors (me included) write Charles isn't exactly the way he was written by TG. If you go back to the series he's actually a pretty flawed individual. He was arrogant at the beginning of the series and he's not a good communicator of his personal feelings at any point through the series. If someone like that was to get PTSD who's to say that it wouldn't manifest in them trying to fix it themselves and distancing themselves from their support structure?_

"I understand that, but he was still the nicest bloke that our Mols has ever been with, and pretty dishy to boot. I was lookin' forward to meetin' him!"

 _Ah, now I understand. You just wanted to check out his arse._

"Well, that too. But listen young man-"

 _Actually I think we're of similar ages. By the way, I loved your stand-up routine in Live at the Apollo. You were so unlike yourself. It was brill._

"Er, well thanks."

"Whatever! Now you've done chattin' up my daughter I've got to tell you that even though you've sweet-talked her Klipdoctor, you're not too old for me to put across _my_ knee!"

 _Oh, hi Marge. Didn't see you there. Glad to see you channelling your Call the Midwife role. You were well scary in that!_

"Not gonna work mate! I'm made of sterner stuff! You're not gonna sweet talk me out of punishin' you for hurtin' our Mols!"

 _Now I understand why Dave calls you three the Coven! Maybe I'm starting to understand him better now. I reckon I could do with a drink an' all…_

"Yeah and don't you believe it mate. Getting a word in edgeways is a full time job with them three around! No wonder I've been driven to drink!"

 _Er, hi Dave._

"Don't you "er hi Dave" me. You've done enough damage! My daughter's in tears an' most of the Captain James fans want your head as well! An' I don't blame them!"

 _Er, well, maybe I'll be off now…_

"DON'T YOU DARE! You'd better fix this Klipdoctor!"

 _I already said in my A/N that I don't intend to write anything more in this universe. Why don't you go back and read my Captain's Log universe if you want happy families and some smut? But anyway, I reckon they would get back together again at some point, it's just I'm not writing any more episodes. Oh, unless the BBC asks me to… A man can dream, can't he?! Anyway, I'll be off now. Bye._

"Come back! You come back here! Dave, you go after him - my arthritis is playing up!"

"Yeah, any excuse to get away from you two. Crazy mares!"


End file.
